


Nothing Left Of Us

by optimusfine



Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 07:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optimusfine/pseuds/optimusfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"Hi," he eventually says, with a short, somewhat awkward laugh, and Danny gets the feeling that Bradford doesn't get out much. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Left Of Us

**Author's Note:**

> angst and unending man pain. possibly the first in a series.

_I will hold on to your touch  
Until there's nothing left of us._  
[ ** _Frank, AB_** ; The Rural Alberta Advantage.]  
   


  
 _July, 2010_.

There’s an excited chatter filling the air, swelling and cresting like an ocean wave before it crashes back down amid friendly back pats that send people crashing into lockers and the clatter of hard plastic dropping to the ground.

It's already hot and sticky in the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat and grass and heat almost tangible in the spaces between the bodies, floating near the ceiling.

Danny takes a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds before he lets it out, and then he smiles.

It's good to be back.

-

"Amendola!"

Danny glances up from where he's unloading his luggage, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, only to see Coach Spags standing in front of him with a clipboard.

"You're rooming with Bradford."

He blinks, looking around their group to find their new quarterback, and he's not hard to spot.

Danny isn't sure how tall Bradford is, but he stands a good couple of inches above most everyone else, even though his head is ducked, and Danny shifts his bag higher up on his shoulder and sighs.  
 _  
'This'll be fun.'_

-

"Bradford."

The kid glances over, all dark eyed and confused and not unlike a skittish horse, and Danny smiles at him.

"Hey."

Bradford looks at him for a bit longer, head cocked to the side, and there's a stray curl falling over the curve of his cheek.

"Hi," he eventually says, with a short, somewhat awkward laugh, and Danny gets the feeling that Bradford doesn't get out much.

-

"Hike!"

It's loud enough to be heard over the scuffling of bodies, and it's a mostly unfamiliar voice but Danny feels his body react anyway; his muscles contract, expand, and he's off, flying across the grass.

Everything goes dull, fading around him until all he can focus on is the wind stinging his face and the turf pounding under his cleats. The ball comes spiralling towards him, beautiful and perfect, and he really doesn't have to do anything as it slams against his chest and lands squarely in his arms.

He's untouched all the way to the end zone.

-

 _August, 2010_.

Danny doesn't really intend to sleep with Bradford. He's kind of made a pact to himself that he doesn't have sex with teammates because it's never pretty.

But Sam's there, and they're both still high off a win - preseason, sure, but a win is a win is a win - and Danny is maybe more than a little drunk.

Point is, he wakes up on Monday morning with a raging headache pounding behind his eyes and his arm slung around the bare, surprisingly slim waist of their rookie quarterback.

-

Danny expects it to be awkward. When he stops to think about it - which won't be until much later, after Sam makes breakfast for them and Danny's heart flutters too fast in his chest when Sam kisses his cheek before he leaves - he realizes that they've never really had an actual conversation, and now they've had sex.

It isn't awkward, though. It isn't awkward because Sam is the same as he's always been in the month since Danny's met him; all crooked smiles and dark eyes and soft laughter, and Danny feels as though a weight's been lifted off his shoulders.

Everything's fine.

-

 _November, 2010_.

"Whoa, Sam, dude, what the hell happened to you?"

Sam turns, getting tangled in the shirt he'd tugged halfway over his head, and he pulls it off all the way before he looks down at Danny with a cocked eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?"

Danny narrows his eyes, pressing his palms to Sam's shoulder so that he can spin the quarterback and point at the large, angry bruise that's shining on Sam's skin.

"That. Don't even try to hide it."

A full body shudder ripples through Sam when Danny's fingers brush the discolored skin, and Danny looks up at him with wide eyes for half a second before he realizes that he's almost caressing Sam's bruise, and this is really fucking weird.

Danny jumps away like he's been burned, cheeks stained bright pink, and he can feel Sam's gaze settle on the back of his neck when he mumbles an apology and scurries back to his own locker.

Well shit.

-

There are other bruises that appear; along Sam's shoulders, chest, hips. They get more frequent as the season goes on, but they don't seem to be affecting Sam's play any, and no one else seems worried, so Danny keeps his mouth shut.

-

 _January, 2011_.

They're coming to the end of the season, fighting for a spot in the playoffs because the fucking Seahawks can't just _lose_.

Until suddenly, they're done, out, and Danny doesn't really know what to feel, because he's been out of the playoffs before, sure, but never like this, not when they were so close that he could practically taste it.

No one on the team really wants to go out but they do – misery loves company, after all – and they find some cheap little dive bar where no one recognizes them and they can be miserable by themselves.

Sam comes with them this time, something that surprises no one because this is a team thing, and Sam may be new but he gets that, gets that he needs to share this with them.

Except unlike everyone else, most of whom are nursing their drinks in mostly silence, limbs heavy with exhaustion and stress and just plain bad feelings, Sam is full of this weird restless energy that Danny hasn't ever seen before.

The quarterback is talking, not about anything in particular, but he's talking like he's going to die if he stops, hands fluttering around him as his low, warm voice floats through the air, settling all around them, and damn if it doesn't make Danny feel at least a little bit better.

-

They have sex that night.

Danny brings Sam back to his too empty apartment and fucks him into the mattress like it's the last thing he's ever going to do, fingers pressing dark bruises into Sam's skin and Sam's rough, bitten nails tearing holes in his worn sheets.

He falls asleep a little after two am, hair matted to his head and Sam's weight pressing warm and solid, comforting, against his side.

When he wakes up in the morning, Sam is gone. 


End file.
